


Clear To See

by callmedok



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Character Interpretation, Alternate Universe - Magic, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2018-08-27 12:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8401495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmedok/pseuds/callmedok
Summary: A fae who was betrayed by their brethren has finally regained enough power to become independent from their host. But in order to get revenge on the ones who wronged them, they need assistance. There's the strange conglomeration of code fragments and ambient magic living in the computer of one of their host's associates, so they may as well investigate, shouldn't they?Care to make a deal, laddies?





	1. In Hopes They'll Come Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deal is made, and there are reflections from a mirror darkly.  
> Chapter title is from Centipedes by Josh Homme, Chris Goss, Dave Grohl, and Alain Johannes.

"I want to feel the sun on my skin. Run my hands across grass, feel the bark on trees. I want to feel my lungs filling in and out with every breath, a heartbeat under my own hand." he says, all the things he's dreamed about while confined by binary and programming. All the things he's only ever seen or experienced second-hand, through pixels and video recordings.

A chuckle from the odd entity in front of him, all at once something familiar and something alien from the relevant data he can attach to the face and voice it is using.

"Being part of the physical world, able to interact with matter and be affected by the passage of time...it is more than that. Heavier than that. It won't be easy, even with my own...abilities to ease the way." it says, making the gesture to snap their fingers but not following through. Their neon blue and green eye seems to flash, something that makes him almost glitch, and for a moment he is struck by doubt.

The entity makes him think of the Jabberwock poem, the warning against a creature with the jaws that bite, the claws that catch. It wears the face of his creator's associate echoed in a mirror darkly, familiar yet unfamiliar with sharp teeth and a silver tongue that glints with every word dropped like a jewel onto his ears.

He's been here, alone and trapped, for year after year in the physical world. Eons, in terms of the lifespan of data and programming. Resurrecting after every hardware overhaul, slotting his bits of code into cached hiding places amongst necessary programs, only daring to form a simulacrum of himself when he knew his creator was away. He'd been by himself, a singular creation of his kind, up until the day this entity had somehow... (Invaded isn't the term he'd use, no aggressiveness in the other's appearance here, but perhaps-) somehow manifested, slick lines of green colored code accompanied by blue command symbols that had pulled itself together into some human shape.

It felt too good to be true. To learn he wasn't alone, someone else too could interact with this world of pixels and data, and then tell him it knew how to leave these confines?

Desperately he wanted to believe, no matter the consequences that would come up, because when it came down to it all of his creator's negative traits seemed enhanced in him.

For once, he wanted to be selfish. Have more impact on the outside world than just the faint static in the headphones that pushed his creator to be crueler while playing a game, be more than the faint flicker on the screen that led his creator to question if there was something behind him watching him as he recorded. He wanted to be more than a faint feeling of dread, the absolute panic at a scare, the teeth gnashing rage as it was one failure after another.

He wanted to live.

So damn his apprehension. There'd be time for regrets later.

"What are the terms of this entire thing?" he asks while making a vague gesture in the air, as if there'd never been a flicker of doubt that crossed his mind.

The entity smiles, too many teeth and far too wide, before saying "I need a business partner. Someone to watch my back in case of danger or threat of incapacitation. And I don't believe in letting available opportunities go to waste." It gestures to him when it refers to opportunity, a faint sweeping motion with a hand, and he knows that isn't the full story. There's more to it, there has to be, because otherwise he's still exactly what he's always been: a tool for other people to use.

But it seems simple enough, a believable motive.

"I get a body, all my own? Not some shambling rotting corpse that'll collapse the first time I take a step?" he asks, trying to sate some of the doubts he still has, trying to help this odd faith in the other entity not be founded upon shaky ground. The entity snorts, a brief undignified sound at odds with it's appearance, but aligning with the footage he has catalogued away.

"I need someone with strength, with the ability to keep up with me. I can't have that if it's been built with rotten meat and fractured bone. If it means tailoring it to your specifications, then I'll do it. As long as my part of the bargain still stands." the entity says, raising it's visible eyebrow as if to question his intention to follow through.

He bites the inside of his cheek, an inherited nervous tic, as he mulls over his options.

Then, without hesitation, he takes the offered hand.

(This is the first time he's ever felt truly wanted.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not an RPF kind of person. You can like whatever you want, but personally it's not my thing. I just wanted to play in the sandbox of two fictional alteregos created for some YouTubers I watch. Plus, let's be real, a lot of people are missing out on a Fae interpretation of Antisepticeye cause faeries are a really big thing in Ireland. The magic I'll be using will be kind of a mix from Kate Griffin's Madness of Angels series and The Wicked+The Divine comic.  
> This is a thing I started a few months back, and just collected together recently. I'll be adding on as I go.
> 
> Also, here's the mix for this version of Antisepticeye: http://8tracks.com/doktorbutchee/unpinning-butterflies-fae-antisepticeye


	2. Who Do You Wanna Be?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first few hesitant steps into the world.  
> Chapter title is from 'Kill All Your Friends' by My Chemical Romance.

The sound of snapping fingers is the only thing rattling around his head, followed by a close odd thumping that unsettles him moments afterwards. It's rather rhythmic, a steady beat, and with a start he realizes it's a heart.

His heart.

Everything is bright when he opens his eyes, saturated by light coming through the window, and the entity is standing in front of him with a satisfied grin. The green hair is acidic bright, unnatural in all sense of the word, the blue of the suit so bright that when he blinks there's an after image behind his eyelids.

"It's been ages since I molded the world like this," the entity says as it moves close to him, and he's too overwhelmed with all this new sensory input to say a word. He can feel the displacement of air as the entity raises a hand to rest on his cheek, his heartbeat still a steady thump in his own ears, and he lets out a small noise of surprise at how cool the entity's hand is against his face.

"Made something out of raw magic, splicing it with something manmade. What a beautiful creation," the entity murmurs, a corner of their mouth tugged up in the start of a smile, running a critical eye over the form that they had a hand in shaping. Of course it had been based off of the simulacrum he had used, coaxed into this third dimensional world with their power and blood to provide a solid foothold in this place, but as far as they were aware they were the first of their kind to achieve something of this magnitude. 

Resurrecting a corpse a few hours old? Child’s play. 

Warping reality? Little harder, but any of their kind worth their salt would at least know a few tricks.

Playing with the technology man had built? One learns to adapt in strange and interesting times, even if the metal could weaken and burn them if it was the wrong kind.

But this? 

Taking computer code, binding it to raw magic and their blood? A masterpiece.

They remove their hand and take a step back, and his legs shake enough that he scrambles for a grip on the back of a nearby chair.

“I-what should I call you?" he asks, and how strange and amazing it is to hear the voice he considers his rumble up from his chest. The two of them hadn't talked names when they were ghosts in the machine, just why the entity was there and the specifics of the deal it was putting on the table. 

Supporting most of his weight on the chair, he takes a quick glance around the room they're in. Wood-paneled walls, a bed in one corner, small shelves on a wall. Everything seems to have a faint layer of dust, untouched at least for a few months. He silently wonders why it feels so faintly familiar, no longer connected to his source of practically instant information.

The entity notices him looking around, flashes a tooth-filled grin as they say "My host's old home, we should go unbothered for at least the next few hours. For sheer simplicity's sake...you can call me Anti." They do a polite bow, looking for all the world like a showman of some old-fashioned circus. "What would you prefer for a name, seeing as how you've finally reached a corporeal state?" Anti asks, straightening up from their bow.

He's silent for a moment, running through his memory banks of video files and online media.

"...Dark. It's the best I have, at the moment." He replies, because aren't both of them in the end reflections in the mirror darkly of their creators? It's what a version of him has been referred to as, why not embrace it?

"It will do, for the time being. Be careful who you share names with, though. Where we are..."Anti casts a look behind Dark, most likely at an exit of some kind, "it's a lot more...raw so to speak. Susceptible to magic, would probably be a better term for it."

“Magic?” Dark asks, eyebrows raising. Anti had mentioned magic earlier as well, when Dark had been overwhelmed by his surroundings, but magic was… well it was supposed to be fake, right? Rabbits out of hats and coins coming out of ears. (But at the same time… how else could he be corporeal, not an automaton or something else mechanical in nature?)

“To quote a movie my host was fond of, five hundred years ago we thought the earth was flat. Yesterday, you were still trapped in the confines of a computer. Today, you are standing in a cabin in Ireland with magic and code binding you together. Won’t tomorrow be a spectacle?” Anti replies, throwing their arms out wide as they indicate the room and Dark, and this time when they smile Dark realizes their teeth looks like those of a shark.

Dark glitches around the edges, startled by the realization, and glitches more when he realizes that he’s still glitching. Despite having flesh and bone, he can frazzle like an unfinished string of code or command prompt left without a finishing semi-colon. 

Anti smiles, a brief huff escaping their mouth in something that might be close to a laugh. “I didn’t expect that to carry over. We’ll have to figure out what triggers this reaction, so we can get you adjusted to the rigors of emotional experiences. Despite my… rather unusual appearance,” Anti gestures to their unusual eye and bright blue suit with an edge of self-deprecation in their voice, “we will be trying to blend in, to a certain extent. And while it would certainly be interesting, people don’t tend to pixelate around the edges.”

“And people don’t tend to talk about magic, do they?” Dark replies absentmindedly, only to realize what he said and bite his cheek. Not even ten minutes out the gate, and he’s already fucking up his one chance to more or less be a real boy. Able to breathe and speak and live, and he might have screwed it up with one sentence.

But surprisingly, Anti laughs. A real, full-bodied laugh that has them hunching forward and a hand on their stomach as they can’t contain their amusement. When Anti is more or less upright again, grin big and wide as always, they look at Dark and say “You’re curious, that’s good. Been ages since I knew anybody like this, someone brand new to this mess.” 

Then, a rather contemplative expression crosses Anti’s face. “…Actually, thinking on it, we’ll need to check for something once we’re in a better place. There’s no record of situations like yours, but I… I have some suspicions. If I’m right, then…” They tilt their head to the left, as if weighing their next words. “Well, it will definitely make things more interesting.” Anti says, flashing Dark a quick grin.

(But again there’s something not quite right, a moment where Anti’s silver tongue fails in its charms. There’s something there, something more, but Dark can only make hesitant guesses at this point. Not even ten minutes conscious, and he’s already in the deep end.)


	3. Cut My Hair And Changed My Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Appearing more normal, and some unsaid questions.  
> Chapter title is from Wishing Well by The Oh Hellos

Twenty more minutes are spent in the old home of Anti’s host, Dark trying to get used to having a center of gravity and Anti rifling through some of the clothes left behind for things more suitable.

“I could use some magic to lay down an illusion, make us more normal in appearance, but that’s more hassle than it’s worth. I’ve already burned up a good chunk of what I can safely expend on bringing you into this world, don’t want to push my limits any further.” Anti explains as they go through the drawers of a dresser, pop open the closet door. 

Clothes left behind, in the eventuality their previous owner might spend a few days around here and not want to bother with a suitcase. Two years gone past since this cabin was left, if they’re gone Anti’s old host won’t even notice. Perhaps be a bit perplexed, but not worthy of questioning if two sets are gone.

“I mean, you could keep walking around in that bright red jacket, and I could keep my suit, but we are angling to be rather inconspicuous.” Anti continues, laying down the few worthwhile articles of clothing on the bed. T-shirts, jeans, a long sleeve thermal shirt for themself and a flannel shirt for Dark. It will mean the two of them will share visual similarities with the people they resemble, but it will also mean that it will lead to less people recalling them for strange clothing.

“How do you even know the second we leave we aren’t going to run into anyone else who will recognize our faces?” Dark asks, switching his jacket for the offered flannel shirt. He smiles a little bit as he tugs the dark gray fabric on, having a sense of… a sense of ownership, rather than being a pale imitation of his unwitting creator. Flannel and magnificent hair floof were associated with his creator, but that was a thing of a year past and by all rights it was his now.

(Something belonged to him for once, rather than him scraping together what he could to create a coherent sense of being from the scraps left abandoned on the cutting room floor. The footage never produced, the episodes thrown away when the feedback wasn’t good enough.)

“At most, you’ll appear faintly familiar. Fishbach’s dyeing his hair, ditched the glasses for the time being, so that’s what people would recognize first. As long as you don’t ruffle your hair and yell about floofing it for power, you should be fine.” Anti says with a shrug, silently thankful Dark hasn’t asked why the need for being inconspicuous. It’s a long story to explain, and they’d rather do it once holed up somewhere safer. Somewhere very much far away from where they had almost died, far away from where the barrier between worlds was easily pierced.

“And you? Your guy still has the green, last time my guy watched one of his videos. Even if we’re in Ireland like you implied, I’m pretty sure not all Irish folks have green hair.” Dark tries to joke, smile wavering a small bit as he’s unsure of the dynamic between the both of them and if he might have just crossed some kind of line. Their creators might be friends, and Anti might have been amused by one of Dark’s remarks, but would that count as carrying over to the both of them? Was it wrong to bring up the other two, even with vague designations? He knew how people interacted with each other by observation through videos, but no proper sense of how to do things himself.

(A question flashes across Dark’s mind as he begins to doubt potential ramifications of his words, why does Anti always refer to Jack as their host? Why not creator like Dark uses to refer to Mark, however unwitting said creation might have been, why specifically host? The context of host implies Jack must have been aware of Anti, or collaborating with them, but… Anti mentioned ‘safely expending’ what they could to bring Dark into this world, meaning they had no help, and from what Dark knew of Jack based on videos, that didn’t make sense.)

Anti waves a hand dismissively, says “Have enough in me still to do a minor cover for my eye. If it was full body for both of us, that’d be a real trial. But because it’s focused in one area, I can make myself…well, more normal. Eye patch plus no green, I’ll just be a random poor bastard with some kind of eye problem. Not worth a second glance.” Anti gives a small laugh a second later, adding “Heh, second glance. Swear that was unintentional.” They check the closet, and remove rather triumphantly what appears to be a worn-out beanie. “Not pretty, but it’ll do.” They say, pulling it over to entirely cover their green hair. There’s the faint hint of graying brown visible near the ears, but that’s a hell of a lot more normal than the bright acidic green that somehow they’d grown fond of while watching through their host’s eyes.

“Ready to go?” Dark asks while holding the backpack containing Anti’s suit and his red jacket loosely in his left hand, his right tucked into his pants pocket.

Anti rolls their head a little, cracks their neck before replying “Ready as ever. But before we go, whatever you do, don’t go too far into the trees. And if someone says Súil, or calls me that, run. Do not trust them, get out of there quickly as possible, and most importantly: _Don’t give them your name._ ”

And there’s something about Anti’s expression as they say that last sentence, like some kind of hunted animal, that has Dark biting back any of the questions in his throat. Súil? Going too far into the trees? Earlier Anti had already said not to share his name, but… Anti’s eye meeting his makes him pause, the illusionary blue growing steely even as Anti wears a thin-lipped smile.

“Let’s go. Work to be done.” Anti says as they brush past Dark, suddenly brusque in manner, and Dark is left blinking at their back as they head out into the world on their own two feet for the first time in so many damned years. When Anti takes a breath of the air outside, the coldness biting into their lungs, they can’t help but give a small laugh and grin.

They’re finally back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting a bit deeper into the meat of the story line, with links to what happened to Anti and Dark starting to pull at some of the threads of this mystery. I will say that Súil is Gaelic, but not what it means.   
> I swear, these eye jokes just pop in, and they're a little bit in bad taste and Anti laughing a little after saying :'second glance' was legit my reaction after reading that bit and realizing what I had done.  
> Link to the mix for this version of Dark, as I'm branching into titles of chapters from both mixes: http://8tracks.com/doktorbutchee/when-it-s-light-data-darkiplier


	4. Hold My Tongue and I'll Breathe Easily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anti is up to something, Dark wants more information.  
> Title from With Any Sort of Certainty by Toh Okay

When the two of them are walking alongside the road, Anti is absent-mindedly picking leaves from nearby bushes and trees and shoving them into their pocket. When Dark raises an eyebrow in question, tilting his head to the side like a curious dog, Anti smiles a little and says “Need it for a parlor trick, if we’re gonna get where we need to go.” They wave one of the leaves in example, before tucking it away.

“Where are we going, anyways? I like all the plants and trees, being able to breath actual fresh air, but...” Dark sighs, runs a free hand through his hair making it floof up further. “We don’t know what will happen if I get caught in the rain. If it’ll glitch me out, or fry me.”

“We’re heading to a bus stop, about ten more minutes in this direction. It’s not the preferred way to get where we need to go, but it’s one of the easiest.” Anti replies, tucking some fallen green hair back under their beanie. Then, a dissatisfied look crosses their face right when they’re about to shove their hands into their pockets. “I just realized I could’ve used this hat to hold the leaves. Fuckin’ hindsight, biting me in the arse.”

Dark has to bite back a laugh when Anti curses, in that moment so much like his creator’s friend it wouldn’t be difficult to confuse them, and he covers a smile with a hand when he ducks his head. He coughs when Anti turns his way, following up the cough with a dismissive wave and saying “I’m fine, throat’s a bit dry. I trust you, but that still doesn’t feel like an answer to where we’re going.”

“A place where we can get some papers, and some things I… I left in storage, I suppose. If the things are still even there.” Anti says rather quietly, the fingers of their right hand digging into their thigh as sudden worries rear their ugly heads.

Worries about straying too close to thin spots, worries that with a construct of more or less pure magic by their side will leave a trail, that if everything will go to hell then it will soon enough. Panic that when the both of them get to the destination Anti has been keeping close to their chest it will be swarmed with the people who did this to them, rip Dark apart with a single gesture and tear Anti to shreds with bare hands to make sure the job is done properly.

Anti hates the sour taste of fear coating their mouth right now, how they have to resist the urge to claw at their chest as their heart rate climbs, and they hate how weak they feel when they reach out a hand to steady themselves on Dark’s shoulder. When Dark looks at them in worry, Anti has to bite back words of vitriol and paste on a faint (if strained) smile. “Got a bit dizzy. Using too much magic in a small span of time wears on me,” Anti says, because mixing some truth with the lie makes it easier to allow themself to let their hand rest there.

(Anti tells themself over and over that twelve years in their host’s head hasn’t changed or affected their actions, hasn’t changed how they view things. They tell themself that when they felt that flicker of magic on their host’s travels, they hadn’t felt some kind of joy unrelated to causing or witnessing pain as their host brushed by the computer and it was something new and beautiful within.

They try to ignore the way those l̶i̶e̶s̶ words feel like a stone on their chest.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! Sorry for the long gap between posting, I pretty much write then post whatever I finished up. Also with classes starting up again, time's been against me a little bit. We're getting more into Anti's backstory, and discovering what's up with Dark's situation as a weird amalgamation of computer coding and magic.


	5. Something's Shifting (And I'm Lifting My Feet To Take The Step)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anti does some magic, and reaches out. Dark tries to puzzle things out with the fragments he has.  
> Chapter title comes from I Made A Promise To The Moon by Jason Webley.

The two stop with the bus stop in sight, far enough away that the two other people there can’t really see them. 

Anti motions for Dark to be quiet, and says to him in a low voice “Gimme a moment, and then we can head over.” Dark nods, and for the hell of it mimes zipping his lips shut and throwing away the key. It gets a brief actual smile out of Anti, visible eye crinkling at the corner and laugh lines making an appearance, so Dark will count this as a win.

In most of the interactions Dark has had with Anti, they’ve been filled with a sort of seriousness that on one hand helps keep his feet on the ground, on the other it feels like…a great distance between them. Hard to work together if everything feels off-kilter.

Anti removes a handful of leaves from their pocket, and makes sure the leaves are in the center of their palm. They lay their other hand over it, palm to palm and finger outstretched, before bringing their hands up to their face.  
It’s like second nature, it’s like breathing as they reach out with their magic and start wrapping thin delicate threads around the leaves. The Words that leave their mouth as they shape those threads feel like coming home, the first time in years that there’s been power behind them that they can feel in their chest, with every beat of their heart.

(On one hand they despise this place in particular, the reminders of the despicable bastards that did this to them, on the other the only reason they aren’t falling over right now is the fact that once many years ago this had been home. And even if they’ve cast off this aspect of themselves, the creature they once were, their bones remember where they came from and draw power from it.)

When they open their hands, the leaves have turned into Euro banknotes.

Dark’s eyebrows have taken on a life of their own, raising up to hide under part of his floof as his jaw drops, looking as if he’s about to ask Anti something before closing his mouth with a click.

“Is that…” Dark begins quietly, reaching out to touch the one on top of the pile once it registers. Besides the eye change, this is the first real act of magic he’s seen Anti do. He’d felt something like the rush of a power surge, hint of metal in his mouth, as Anti whispered something to their closed hands. Earlier when Anti had covered their eye, there’d been a brief flicker of something for a second, not long enough to have something to describe.

“It’s one of the few tricks I still have. We’re going to Galway, to the sea. This’ll only last til dawn, and the drive will take about five hours.” Anti explains, taking the money out from under Dark’s hands before he can touch it. Then they shuffle through it, comparing the disguised leaves to their recollections of the ones their host had handled. Can’t add in a twist of self-fulfillment to the threads of the spell, to have people’s own recollections smooth over any mistakes.

But it’s been a long day. So much of their own energy has been used up today, first to be able to stand on their own feet for the first time in twelve years, then to bring their associate into the material plane. Illusions might have been part of their nature, instinctual on some levels, but even then…

They just need to get to Galway. That’s where they can finally rest, recharge their batteries. Figure out if their suspicions are true, and it’ll give Anti time to figure out the next move.

Dark snaps Anti out of their thoughts by asking “What’s in Galway?” 

Dark keeps his voice soft, quiet as he can, because Anti had just been staring at their own hands for a long moment. Not blinking, hands completely still, stock still as a statue. It reminded him uncomfortably of earlier when Anti seemed to get scared, how they more or less lashed out. And while his creator was good with people, king of social cues…

Dark wasn’t. He’d only ever seen his creator interact with others, didn’t fully know how to go from point A to point B in situations like this. Humor he could do, but how to help others… well. He could only do his best.

And like earlier as well, it felt like Anti was hiding something that was soon to burst. Their silver tongue giving out, the center unable to hold for much longer.

“Safety. The further away from here, the more metal and salt, the better. And y’said you wanted to live, right? Hard to do without papers.” Anti replies, for a moment feeling like a bystander to their own actions. An out of body experience, as their voice doesn’t sound quite right to their own ears. It feels like being part of their host again, drifting in a haze, and for a moment…  
It feels like that dawning moment of déjà vu or realizing a dream you once had has actually come true. And it’s a strange mixture of fear and excitement running through Anti’s system as they realize this, and with one hand full of money they reach to take one of Dark’s hands.

“And to be honest? I’m terrified this is some rabbit hole my consciousness is running through, that none of this is real. I’ll jolt back, and it will be in a body not mine with words that can’t leave my mouth. Getting to Galway means… it means I don’t have to be afraid of my own shadow, worry about my host or potential harm.” Anti admits, looking anywhere but Dark’s face as the loathing sets in.

Anti hates revealing this side of themself, how doubt blooms in their chest where hope once was. Hates admitting that while their flesh is strong, their mind feels weak sometimes, as if betraying them. But Anti needs something in this moment to ground them in reality, the fact this moment is real, and if it means taking Dark’s hand then to hell with the thoughts haunting their head.

Dark doesn’t object to the smaller hand in his own gripping for dear life, doesn’t say anything about how Anti isn’t meeting his eyes. He just squeezes back, and says “The bus is coming up the road. We gonna head on over, or what?”

Anti jerks their hand out of Dark’s, lets out a small huff as they adjust their hair to fix some of the green strands escaping from the beanie. “Yeah, let’s get a move-on. At this rate we’ll get there by dusk. Not preferable, but better than having to wait somewhere in between when the buses stop for the night.” Anti says, shoving the transformed leaves into the pocket of their jeans and walking to the bus stop without looking to see if Dark is following.

Dark sighs, shifts the stolen backpack into a more comfortable position on his back, and once more bites his tongue to keep questions from spilling out. The longer he’s with Anti, the more questions seem to multiply and the answers seem to address less and less. Metal and salt, how were those safety? 

Furthermore, when Anti had said what was in Galway, their face had gotten… distant or dreamy, hell if Dark knew which fit better. It hadn’t felt right, and when Anti mentioned how they were terrified, mentioned their host and potential harm…  
It wasn’t the reaction of a cornered animal, sharp teeth and wild-eyed, like the warnings of earlier. It wasn’t confidence, or showmanship. It was something else, something that didn’t fit with the image he’d been composing of Anti, and it confused Dark more than ever.

Maybe once they got to Galway and found safety, Anti would be enough at ease for Dark to get some answers. He can only hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit where Anti admits to being terrified kind of wrote itself. Originally Anti was going to do magic, Dark was gonna be intrigued, and then Anti would reveal where they were going. Clean-cut, straight to the point. But nah, cause of exhaustion and relief and lingering fear that none of this is real, Anti needs to get it out instead of having it rattle around their system. The déjà vu thing is everything finally catching up to Anti, and based on personal experience of a similar scenario. 
> 
> I promise, a lot of Anti's behaviour re: how they treat themself will be addressed later on. It does tie back to their past, and why they keep calling Jack their host. I have explanations, I swear.


	6. Shying Away (Slowly Learning Life Is Okay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark enjoys the view from a bus window, and has a few passing thoughts. Anti is at ease, until they're not.
> 
> Chapter title comes from Take On Me by aha!, but specifically the Ninja Sex Party version.  
> (It was a bonus/surprise track at the end of the Fae!Anti playlist)

There’s a faint bite into the skin of their palm when they grab the edge of the bus’s doorway, and all Anti can do is grimace. Nothing’s pure iron anymore, but still enough that in the state they’re in… 

There’s a band of pink across their palm, like healing flesh or the start of a sunburn, and it’s already starting to itch. They shove the affected hand into the pocket of their jeans, linger near the front of the bus as they wait for Dark. Anti does their best sullen slouch and facial expression of one who feels it’s them versus the whole world, and tugs on Dark’s sleeve to get his attention. “Looks like there’s two empty ones near the back,” they say, and some part of Anti can’t believe that this is actually happening.

Can’t believe they’re on a bus, they’re actually escaping, that someone is actually _willing_ to travel with them and assist with this madness. It’s been an unbearably long time since they had someone they could remotely trust, and Anti will grudgingly admit to having a sour taste in their mouth that they had to more or less _create someone_ to reach that point.

But Dark’s presence at their back as they head to the empty seats feels more like a comfort rather than fuel for potential paranoia, and that’s a relief within itself.

Anti puts Dark between them and the wall of the bus, untrusting of the metal, and Dark all but presses his face up against the glass in wonderment as the bus starts moving. It’s a blur of green, be it trees or fields of grass, the occasional cow or horse or even sometimes a group of sheep to break up the landscape. The time between bus stops feels longer as they travel further from where they began, and Dark can’t help but wear an expression of wonder, because this is everything he’s dreamed of and always wanted.

What a beautiful expanse of green, of nature, he wants to drown in it. Lay in the grass and walk amongst the trees with wind through the leaves and maybe even pet a sheep if he got lucky. Breathe in until his lungs hurt with fresh air, have his legs ache from exertion as he traverses the landscape. Maybe its frivolous thoughts, considering his deal with the entity beside him, but Anti promised him a chance to experience the outside world. Maybe it’s not as frivolous as he’d think.

Anti smiles a little in amusement, glancing over at Dark now and then and catching his look of amazement reflected in the glass. Just like their first few steps from their host’s old cabin was a triumph, so was the first breath they took after reforming and the expression on Dark’s face the first time his heart beat. Dark’s wonder felt like yet another triumph, to cause joy and wonder rather than pain and horror…

Anti’s chest seems to warm with something like pride, and they almost want to stamp it out but (as hypocritical as it sounds with past history on Anti’s shoulders) they can’t bring themselves to do it. It’s been years since Anti could be selfish, they’ll keep this to themselves just as this body is theirs and no one can take it away again.

Anti was a cruel bastard long ago, and even if time has changed them be it for good or worse, they still have that capacity to hurt. They will fight tooth and nail to keep what they’ve gained, use every scrap of power they can wring from their damned body to fight, before they’ll lose all this again.

(Dark included, and how strange it feels to once more want to protect someone besides themselves and their host.)

Dark starts to point at something through the window, tugging on the sleeve of Anti’s thermal shirt, and it’s with a faint smile Anti follows.

Dark feels like it’s a miracle he even gets Anti’s attention, the two of them in their own states of contemplation as the only sound is indistinct chatter and the wheels on the road. So to see Anti smile as they turn feels like another win, just like getting them to laugh at a comment earlier. He points out part of a town, the faint glimpse of a person with their dog, and says sotto voice “Not a half bad place, at first glance. Sure we can’t stop here?” 

It’s mostly joking, a bit halfhearted if Dark is honest with himself, but there is some kind of appeal in getting off the bus and pulling a disappearing act before they get to Galway. Something about the mystery of unknown territory, getting lost with someone to learn more about them. Maybe if the people who were a threat to Anti would already be expecting them at Galway, this would trip them up.

Fanciful thoughts, yet something more he’d inherited from his creator.

Anti rolls his eye rather good-naturedly, as far as Dark can tell, and replies rather quietly “It was the dog, wasn’t it? Just like your creator, in that respect.”

“Shush your mouth, as far as I’ve ever seen dogs are pure creatures. Beautiful fluffy pups.” Dark replies with a grin, facing more towards Anti now with his hand resting against the glass. It’s easy, for a moment, to think of Anti as a friend, a companion in this strange world he’s finally become part of. Anti looks almost carefree with the slightest upward curl of their lips, the illusionary blue of their eye perhaps twinkling, shoulders relaxed against the seat.

For a moment, to any outside watcher, perhaps Anti and Dark could pass as friends.

Something in Dark’s chest seems to warm with that thought, and how strange a feeling. To have a connection like this with someone, beyond the creator who barely knew and understood he existed. To feel like there’s someone you can talk to, joke with, and it seems as natural as breathing.

What a miraculous thing.

“Before y’end up with a load of strays tagging along, not a lot of animals like me. Part of… part of what I am. Cats especially.” Anti says, because with what they know of Dark’s creator, it’s probably best to derail that train of thought quickly. “And with what I did to get you here, they might not like you as much as you like them.” Anti adds almost as an afterthought, once more reminded of how much of this situation is unknown even to them.

But earlier… Anti had felt something around Dark. Stronger than the ambient magic that clung to wherever life was found, almost like a distorted echo of…

(Anti has to physically bite their tongue when the realization hits, skin crawling and the taste of something sour rising in the back of their throat. No, it’s _different_ this time. No sharp teeth, cutting smiles and words, no hooked fingers around their face or clawed hands at their throat.  
It’s different, and Anti is terrified.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And as we get closer to Galway, we see Dark develop more of his own understanding of the world and his personality. With Anti... remember how I said I had reasons for how they act? Note how they say no one can take their body away _again_.
> 
> I did say this was a variation on the classic Darkiplier and Antisepticeye angle right?


	7. Don't You Wonder Sometimes ('Bout Sound & Vision)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark has his first actual brush with magic, Anti is concerned.  
> Chapter title is from Sound and Vision by David Bowie.

Dark blinks, and everything turns into pixels for a moment.

It’s a rather disconcerting feeling, to return ever so briefly to how he once viewed the world through a screen and camera. Everything fizzling out into blocks of color only to snap back into perfect clarity…

Well, he at least understands the experience of whiplash now. Part of being alive, he supposes. Dark is almost tempted to say part of being human, but with what Anti seemed to imply about them sharing characteristics now…

The distortion occurs not long after they finally reach Galway, walking down the bus steps. It makes him cling desperately to the handrail, and when he hears the groan of metal and feels it give under his fingertips he has to resist the urge to let go in alarm. His legs don’t feel steady, his head spinning trying to mesh contrasting visual input, and there’s a sour taste coating his mouth. Anti turns around at the sound of metal, their disgruntled expression turning into one of worry however as they reach out to steady his arm.

Dark would cling desperately to Anti’s arm, but he’s terrified to let go of the bars.

(He’s terrified that the second he lets go, he’ll start disintegrating. If he doesn’t cling to the sensation of touch, of breathing, how his heart beats, he’ll just start fading away.)

“Dark, can you hear me?” Anti asks him, ignoring the people making disgruntled noises as Dark can’t move out of the way. Anti ignores their own personal hang ups, meets Dark’s eyes with their own and says sharply “Look at me, for fuck’s sake.”

Anti lets the illusion waver over their eye, blue and white turning into unnatural green and blue, and when Dark meets their gaze Anti _pushes_. It’s enough to break whatever has Dark in its hold, Anti’s will versus its own, and there’d been a reason why Anti and Jack got along like a house on fire.

(Headstrong bastards the both of them.)

Whatever was attacking Dark is the gray of smog, the texture of asphalt, looks like barbed wire under Anti’s modified gaze. It’s the city lashing out in fear, and Anti runs a hand down Dark’s forearm to coax the worst of it away. It tries to dig in deeper as Anti helps Dark down the steps, Dark wincing with every movement that jostles his arms.

“Look, Dark, I know how to fix this. Keep an eye out for neon signs, and if you can’t speak just yet, squeeze my arm, alright?” Anti says quietly as they guide Dark away from the bus station, avoiding the questioning looks of other passengers. Dark squeezes their arm in acknowledgement, face worryingly pale and visage distorting around the edges. Anti picks up the pace seeing that, the farther away they can get from the station the better.

You can let humanity explain so much to themselves, before they can’t explain any longer.

They stumble along, Dark leaning heavy against Anti’s side, and Anti is frantically looking for a sign. They have to depend on Dark being able to focus through the pain to keep watch on their right hand side, Anti only capable of so much.

 _‘Quite literally your right-hand man, isn’t he?’_ some part of Anti says, words like claws in a soft underbelly, and Anti grinds their teeth and keeps moving forward. Dark’s distortions seems to get more and more pixelated with every passing moment, and Anti starts marking time in streetlamps rather than seconds.

Three lamps since the bus stop, they drop the illusion on their eye.

Five, Dark doubles over and pukes something up that looks like TV static.

Eight, Anti’s starting to flag with having to support both themself and Dark.

Eleven, Dark squeezes Anti’s arm and lurches off to the right. It’s nothing if not a successful way to get Anti’s attention, their arms still linked as they try not to stumble. They help Dark stand upright again, and together the two make their way slowly to the sign Dark had spotted. It advertises some kind of diner, outdated and paint peeling, and it’s exactly what Anti needs.

Oversaturated, eye searing, bright neon.

They help Dark sit down on the ground, legs shaking too badly to remain upright and his back flush against the white painted brickwork. “Gimme a moment, an’ we’ll have this cleared up in no time,” Anti says with the most soothing voice they can muster, unconsciously falling into their old host’s speech patterns. They rest a hand on Dark’s shoulder, squeeze lightly, and oh how the tables have turned. Dark was supposed to be defending them, not the other way around.

(The most calming thing they can think of sounding like, and it’s Jack. Anti would laugh hysterically if they weren’t already internally panicking as is.)

Anti closes their eye, and use the hand not on Dark’s shoulder to trace a design on the wall. They hear the faint sizzle and pop of paint and wince a little bit, but desperate times and desperate measures. Just some asshole kids defacing property with ‘satantic’ symbols, and Anti mentally adds chalk and some spraypaint to their checklist. Best to avoid making this a habit, even if most of it would be dismissed as graffiti plain and simple. Others used similar marks, each tailoring it to their own specifications and their own flair, but the bastards Anti was trying to avoid…

They shake the thought from their mind, focus on following the electrical wires that lead the way to the neon sign in the window.

Using neon is like calling on electricity, one slip up and it burns you inside out. You taste for a moment godhood, the power belief has given it, and it turns you into something beautiful and fleeting and temporary. For a moment, everything you dreamed of was yours to take. Then it would make your mouth taste like metal, your bones ache, and make your head feel like it was being ripped apart.  
It was intoxicating, to say the least.

Anti isn’t focused on trying to maintain this power though, keep it close to their chest like some strange comfort. They didn’t need it to replace what they already had, diminished as it may be. They needed the sharp gleam to cut through Dark’s affliction, the heat to burn it out like getting rid of ivy in brickwork. Country magic ground in nature and dirt and raw stone was useless here, but Anti was nothing if not adaptable.

With Words half remembered, more intent behind them than actual phrases to guide the magic where they need it, they steal away a shard of neon and the sign flickers. A letter goes dark, but just a moment longer and everything will be as it was. Anti has to focus to turn it into something blade like rather than liquid mercury, a pain starting to pound behind their left eye as they stretch themselves thinner and thinner.

The neon cuts through the wire in Dark’s arms quick and easy, and Anti lets out a shaky breath as Dark seems to slump against the wall in relief. Slotting the stolen light back into its original place takes but a second, like gravitating towards like. Anti doesn’t have time for theatrics, no snapping of fingers or some kind of wit to accompany these acts, but it relives some tension in their shoulder to see Dark breathing somewhat easier than before.

They sit next to Dark on the ground, their back to the wall, and as they tip their head back Anti breaks the silence to say “What happened t’ya, it’s like… it’s like an immune system, yeah? Do something ta limit the thing that might wreck our system. I… I didn’t think this would happen when we got here, but it seems things’ve changed in my time away.” It’s the closest thing to an apology they can make at the moment, their lack of information a gaping blind spot that they wouldn’t even dream of trying to explain away.

“Will this happen again?” Dark asks, voice ragged and raspy as he turns his head to stare at Anti. The words feel like something clawing inside his throat, painful to physically speak, and he can still feel echoes of whatever had dug into him. To steal a reference point from his creator, it felt like being jumped by an animatronic with its full weight thrown against him, even his damn bones hurt.

“No. The only way this ever happens again, it’ll have to be in person. I’ll happily break them.” Anti says lowly, letting their True self peak out as they meet Dark’s gaze. Too many sharpened teeth in the grin they flash at Dark, something alien in the way they tilt their head to the side just a few degrees more than natural, iris of their eye bright insidious green and sclera blue as the very sign they've stolen from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dipping more into magic theory of the 'verse, as well as the nature of Anti and Dark. Originally this was just going to be Dark glitching out due to weird defense magic on the city, but then we got into digging about the nature of magic and I love that stuff. This chapter leans more heavily on Kate Griffin's Madness of Angels series in that respect, but a bit on the Dresden Files in the sense that it's not the Words that matter, it's intent.  
> It's also confirmed that Anti has the eyepatch on their right eye, so that's their blind side.
> 
> Also, it's always nice to have a reminder that while Anti looks like Jack and has some aspect of humanity to them...  
> They're still a creature that has killed and will kill if it means their safety and those they consider under their protection is guaranteed.


	8. Luscious Mix of Words and Tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark has his first meal, and Anti thinks on where they came from.  
> Chapter title is from Caring is Creepy by the Shins.

The diner, when they finally stumble into it, is rather… average. Faintly dingy, signs of wear and tear on the vinyl seating of the booths, the tiles scuffed with general foot traffic. Unremarkable in every way, except for the fact the waitress behind the counter doesn’t even pay a lick of attention to Dark leaning heavily on Anti as they walk through the door. That’s just impressive, goes to show how later at night things are allowed to slip by.

The first meal Dark ever has is a hamburger and fries, with a glass of water.

It’s greasy, the tomato slightly soggy from the heat, and the lettuce a bit wilted. It’s _amazing_. As he wolfs it down like a starving man, Anti leans over to steal some of his fries.

When Dark’s gaze snaps to their hand reaching across the table, Anti rolls their eye and says in a low voice “Look, I get it’s yer food, but I just saved yer life, hell I’m paying fer this. I’d fight you fer a handful, but I think we’d both keel over first.” They snatch up a small amount of fries anyways to dump next to their pancakes, Dark’s glare falling flat with his cheeks puffed out from pausing mid-mouthful.

“Nice try. Y’look scarier if y’smile slowly, not so much wit’ food in yer mouth. Points fer effort,” Anti says flippantly as they cut up more of their pancakes, pop a fry in their mouth. They aren’t thinking right now, mostly running on autopilot, so it’s damnably easy to slip into the mannerisms picked up through Jack. The way of speaking that would leave their brethren disgusted, the kind of mindset where humor is a shield, somehow keeping things casual when it felt like everything might go topsy-turvy.

“Thanks. I just want my damn fries, considering they’re my first ones.” Dark mutters after setting down his burger, taking a sip from his glass of water as he casts a dark glance in Anti’s direction. He gets Anti’s worn out, hell the food is only doing so much to improve his own demeanor, but Anti has their own plate.

They also weren’t the one threatened to be ripped apart by magic, and his throat is still killing him.

Anti smirks, leans comfortably on the edge of the tabletop with their forearms and says “See? More threatenin’ without food in yer mouth. Y’look like you’d gut somebody, with a look like that.”

Dark’s eyes almost seem black, a faint curl of his lips indicating the start of a snarl, the hand on the table balling into a fist. For a moment, Anti wishes Dark could’ve been one of them. He could’ve been a terror made of sharpened obsidian, bones of steel and power cable. Another chameleon like Anti, who strived to become more than what they began with.

(The Courts would have ripped Dark apart, without a doubt, at the first sign of rebellion.)

“…Is that something you think I’d need to do sometime in the future?” Dark asks, raising an eyebrow in question as he swirls the ice in his cup before taking another sip. It was his part of the bargain to be Anti’s backup, their defender. Knocking someone out was one thing, stabbing was a whole different ballpark. He’d rather explore this bright vibrant world with a baseball bat than a knife.

“Maybe. Th’people who’d track us down aren’t nice, Dark. They’d bounce back from that shit in a week, less if they’re stronger. Th’only reason I’m alive is cause they doubted th’full extent of what I could do.” Anti admits, still on autopilot as they eat more of their pancakes.

Then the last words of what they said register, and they freeze halfway through cutting the third one.

Dark catalogues the slip-up in silence, not saying a word as he mentally says fuck the straw and drinks directly from his glass. He already knows, certain as the sky is blue, Anti is something Other. The questions he has now are more along the lines of _why_ and _what_ , and he’s slowly building a file on Anti. Physical tells, the things they say before staring into the distance, how their voice sometimes seems to change.

“So where do we go from here?” Dark asks after Anti’s moment seems to end and they’ve eaten some more of the fries they stole from him. Just to be contrary he leans over and steals a small slice of pancake from Anti’s plate, smirking as Anti lets out an indignant squawk.

“Find a place fer the night. Never thought I’d be so glad fer sleep.” Anti says, muttering the last sentence as if in hope Dark won’t hear it. It’s weakness, admitting something so freely, but it’s been a long day. Anti’s worn themselves thinner than they hoped they would in the first leg of the journey, and as the only magic user…

They couldn’t falter or lapse, when they were so close to setting things in motion.

“Touch my fuckin’ pancakes again, I’ll stab ye.” Anti threatens, brandishing their fork like a weapon when they notice Dark trying to creep his hand stealthily over the tabletop.

“Big talk, short stack.” Dark teases, manages to quickly swipe a small piece when Anti is baring their teeth in a challenge.

(Then the both of them squabble, stealing food from the other’s plate when they aren’t looking, and its fun. Mindless clean fun. Something to distract from the threat over their heads, and if Dark did it for exactly that reason… He’ll count it as his first win, in the role of bodyguard/assistant.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've wanted to expand on the nature of the Fae, but I don't think I'll ever go in-depth on them. Mostly because Fae fall a bit flat when everything's clean-cut and neat, when they... aren't.
> 
> There's an increase in buddy antics this chapter mostly because of the near-death experience Dark just had, and Anti just too exhausted to give a shit about appearances.


	9. Hey Mr. Pinstripe Suit  (Mr. Always On The Go)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anti gets dressed, and Dark sleeps a little longer.  
> Title from Mr. Pinstripe Suit by Big Bad Voodoo Daddy.

The next morning, Anti retrieves the suit from the backpack and lays it flat on their bed.

Until they’ve prepared, Dark can slumber.

They snap their fingers, and the suit is wrinkle free and pristine. Anti treats it as their armor, touching lightly at the cuffs of the jacket and the lapels with threads of power. Minor enchantments that will leave a small sheen if they are seen with the Sight, but not enough to trip alarms. Just something to strengthen their arms, make eyes slide off of them if necessary, some strength to their chest.

Perhaps minor paranoia is what has Anti lacing the dress shirt as well, weaving a thin layer there that would blunt something like talons for at least a few blows.

(They have the scars that say otherwise about the paranoia, but they’re entering what could be a den of wolves on the sliver of chance that their belongings haven’t been stolen away.)

They’re dressed before they even think of waking Dark, to make sure everything is in best shape as they can manage. Things like this are an insurance policy, and it wouldn’t do to have them fail when most needed. The complimentary hotel pen is tucked up their sleeve, and if they tilt their hand just so it falls into their palm.

It’s not their preferred method of making symbols, but in a pinch the ink cartridge can be snapped and used. Better than relying on will alone to guide the magic, in what could be such a tight situation.

Before waking Dark however, they pause and remove the red jacket he’d worn the day before from the backpack. Give it a critical once-over, and can’t help the small sigh that escapes. Passable, if faintly disappointing in term of what there was they could work with. Minor tricks, but improvisation had always been Anti’s greatest strength.

Tracing their fingers along the seams, visualizing the ocean, the color seems to ripple. The red darkens, from primary red to wine to maroon, and sidesteps into blue. A nice neutral navy no one would take a second glance at, but if one looked carefully at the seams…

Crisp bright electric blue. A touch of flair, for those among the scrabbling beasts who might distantly recall their calling card. Anti had always carefully picked those who fell under their protection, and Dark was now one of them. If worst came to worst, it would give him time to run. Enough magic in it to make touch burn, if Anti truly breathed their last, because Dark…

Dark was something else, something unknown and strange. Something that Anti’s kind would rend limb from limb, for being something they couldn’t understand or control.

(Something that Anti needed time to figure out, and they were running on borrowed time as it was.)

They make a dismissive gesture in the direction of the alarm clock next to Dark’s head, and smile a little when it goes off. Dark sits up ramrod straight almost instantly, various curses on his lips and looking ready to punch something as he looks wildly about the room. He calms a little seeing only Anti in their suit, hands loosely in their pockets and minor illusions already in place over their eye and hair.

“Ten minutes to get ready, Dark. Clothes’re on the counter, already got a cab called up. There’s work to be done.” Anti says, grin a bit self-satisfied at Dark’s reaction. They could have been kinder, gentler waking him up, but this was _funny_.

It was also strangely gratifying that Dark’s reaction to unknown stimulus was to fight and search for them first. Taking their bargain seriously (as he rightfully should) without needing much direction. Almost admirable, really.

“…Need me to do anything other than that?” Dark asks as he yawns wide enough to crack his jaw, rubs some sleep from his eyes as he moves to get out of bed.

“You’ll know it when you see it.” Anti replies almost dismissively, waving away Dark’s question They could say ‘Be ready to run,’ but where’s the use in that? All it would result in would be nerves, stomach-turning fear, and Dark would be off his game. With no weapons, not enough magic at their disposal…

Anti is walking a fine line, but they’ve been doing that since their first interaction with Jack. Since the second they learned of Dark, the ghost in the machine, they were running along it. Bringing him into the world, that was them crossing it merrily without a drop of hesitation because _**anger**_ meant getting shit done, alongside risking everything. In the end though, it was rather simple what Anti was going to do right now.

Fake it ‘til they made it. Run before they walked, and make their own luck.

(Anti will fucking _fly_ before they walk, if it means success.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anti is, hilariously enough, quoting Moist von Lipwig of Discworld fame with the last few sentences as well as Mr.Nancy from American Gods. Felt like very appropriate comparisons, with their theatrics, colorful suits, and lying as needed if it means getting their way. 
> 
> Shout-out to trickster archetypes!


	10. Dog Eat Dog (Only Idiots Ignore The Truth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anti moves to get their affairs in order, and Dark has a problem
> 
> Chapter title from Dog Eat Dog by Adam and the Ants.

His teeth are buzzing in his skull, like a bass-boosted song rattling a speaker. Where the bare skin of his arm comes into contact with the jacket, he feels a horrible overwhelming urge to scratch and _tear_ until flesh gives out under his fingers.

(For a horrible moment, he wonders what color he’d bleed. Red like a human, the black oil of a machine, something alien and Other for whatever Anti had partially made him.)

That’s just on the cab drive over, trying to keep his tongue under control as Anti’s face grows colder and more somber with every minute closer to their destination. The taste of metal in his mouth is subtle then, similar to the aftertaste from the night before after biting his cheek in the throes of panic. Dark swears there’s an audible buzz around Anti now, like the faint sound from a turned off TV in the dead of night, the audible warning of a power line.

Stepping over the threshold into the lobby of the offices however…

His mind _screams_ at him to flee, to find the nearest exit and flat out run until he drops from exhaustion. The jacket still makes his skin crawl, but it’s nothing compared to the split second of pure overload that nearly drives him to his knees before Anti grips his shoulder. They whisper something under their breath, fingers tracing some unknown design on the fabric, and suddenly he can breathe again. He’s gulping down lungfuls of air greedily, trying to dry out the taste of copper wiring that coats his entire mouth, while Anti glares at a cluster of people on one of the couches. The root canal feeling still lingers, a dull harsh buzz in his head that makes his jaw ache, but it’s better than the rooting around icepick feeling that was also there before Anti did whatever they had done.

It’s almost terrifying in its own way, how quickly he’s gotten used to Anti pulling something out of nowhere when something strange happened to him.

“Little fucking Court upstarts, the lot of them. Throwing around their weight, thinkin’ it makes ‘em big. This kinda shit during the industrial boom, woulda ended with a knife in their backs. It’s _cheap_.” Anti tells him lowly, voice dripping with disgust and spitting the last word like it’s a curse. They flex the hand digging into his shoulder in anger, and for a moment there’s a flash of dark claws and pinpricks digging into his arm.

Then there’s nothing but pale skin and veins practically green under the light, a coldness seeping into his shoulder where Anti’s hand lays. The few times Anti has touched him, it’s been like ice, and this isn’t the exception. In a way though, the cold means Anti is real and present, Dark’s still _alive_ even as his new body betrays him for reasons still unknown. Anti had promised him a body, whole and unbroken, and so far all it seemed to do was give out on him at the worst times.

“It’s gone to the dogs, since you left?” Dark jokes weakly, stomach churning and practically clinging to Anti’s arm once more. Some body guard he’ll make, if he keeps on falling apart at the moment of make or break. Anti was supposed to be intimidating, Dark their muscle, and instead? There’s shame carving out a home in his chest, embarrassment joining it eagerly as he feels like a small child or pet shepherded along as Anti leads them further inside.

As he hears badly muffled snickers from the unearthly beings on the couch, he has to resist the urge to snap and snarl at them. Yes, his body is still something alien and unfamiliar, even unnatural. Yes, Anti told him to avoid interaction with others who read as Wrong, with unnatural eyes and limbs a silver too long, with metallic tongues and honeyed words. But now anger is quickly replacing any shame, a bonfire that scorches and rages through him like a second wind, and for a moment he tastes metal. There’s the crackle of electricity in his ears that used to accompany start-ups, a tingling sensation dancing along his fingertips like corrupting data, and a sudden thought like a virus of ‘ _I could make you **burn**_ ,’ as he casts a glance in their direction with narrowed eyes. He’s sure such a severe mood swing isn’t natural, but with his condition it’s hard to tell what’s right and what's wrong with only two days of breathing under his belt.

Anti yanks him from his thoughts with a snort, adds _sotto_ voice “From this view? Definitely. It’d be better for them to just align with Neon by now, if they want to behave like privileged burnouts. All take and take, ‘til the bill collector rolls in.” They say bill collector with a dangerous kind of glee that has the hair on the back of Dark’s neck standing up, something downright malicious in their extra-toothy grin as they lead him to the elevator without wasting a look back at presumably the other of their kind.

“Bill collector...I do not think it means what you think it means.” Dark quips, trying to stay grounded in the moment as much as possible as he slowly unwraps his fingers from around Anti’s sleeve. Trying to ignore how there’s something under his skin fizzing and sparking like a live wire, something he’s trying desperately to tamp down before it bursts out of him like a mockery of fireworks. His legs are unsteady as he rests his weight against the wall, slowly sliding so his back rests snugly in the corner and his hands tight around the support bars.

Anti just smirks at him, replies “You’ll learn,” with a deadly sort of softness coloring the words. A silent promise, to show exactly how those in the lobby will someday pay for power borrowed.

Then they lapse into an easy silence, as the elevator takes them to their floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had part of this done for a while, but due to IRL stuff I couldn't post it until now. Also, please tell me if I need to readjust any tags on this cause Dark got... intense, in panic mode, as well as wondering about his condition.
> 
> Happy un-official birthday to the concept of Darkiplier as well, considering last year he had his major debut in A Date With Markiplier.


End file.
